Mind Your Own Business
by beeayy
Summary: Garak/Bashir. Bashir is being too nosy, so Garak "invites" him to go on a super secret spy mission into Cardassian space. Cuddling, banter, and federation medical secrets ensue. Slash or merely buddies, depending on if your point of view.
1. Chapter 1

"…It's very simple," Garak said, stepping towards Bashir. They were in sickbay, alone, and Bashir was trying to ignore Garak's melodic voice with waning success. "I just have a problem that I need your help with, at fourteen hundred hours at docking station three. I'm just meeting someone—it won't take much time at all, really."

Bashir looked up from the padd he was working on, and leveled a cold glare at his sometimes-lunch date. "And who is it that you're going to be meeting with?"

"Oh, a friend." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "I can't say anymore here, of course."

Bashir sighed. "Garak, I don't have time for one of your little games," he said wearily.

"Games?" Garak said, looking genuinely offended. "I am being quite serious!"

"Of course you are. Now, unless you have a medical complaint, then I'm afraid I've got to get back to work."

Now it was Garak's turn to sigh as Bashir brushed past. "Fine, if you're set on playing doctor, let's play doctor." As Bashir passed he grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to a biobed.

"Garak! Let go!" Bashir shouted indignantly, but Garak was quite strong and easily flipped him so that suddenly he was lying on the biobed with Bashir straddling him.

"Garak! What the hell are you—!" He shouted, as Garak pulled Bashir's hand to his neck, but what he felt there made him freeze. "Garak—"

"Still here, doctor," Garak said pleasantly. "You don't have to start every sentence with my name."

"But you're—your pulse is through the roof." Bashir changed instantly from aggravated friend to concerned doctor, taking out his tricorder and taking some readings as he looked in Garak's eyes and mouth. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to worry you, of course. But I do think that at fourteen hundred hours you should—"

"Julian, I've got a—WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

This outburst came from O'Brien, who stood speechless in the doorway to the sickbay. His hand was bleeding, but that seemed to be the least of his worries at the moment. It was only then that Bashir remembered the compromising situation he was in. He leapt off Garak with such energy that he almost broke his neck. Garak merely slithered off the biobed and adjusted his tunic with an air of superiority.

"I was just—Garak was—" Bashir stammered until O'Brien cut him off.

"Oh, no need to _explain,_ Julian," O'Brien said. "I'll just wait outside, shall I? I think that would be better than being scarred for life!"

Bashir gulped air like a fish out of water. "I—just hold on a second, I'll see to your hand once I've finished figuring out what's wrong with Garak—"

"You've done quite enough already, Doctor, thank you," Garak said. He was already heading towards the door.

"W-Wait, hold on!" Bashir glanced at O'Brien, who was still fuming at him, and gave him a nervous smile. Then he chased after Garak as he left the infirmary, tricorder at the ready. "Get back here, your pulse is much too high—"

"Is it?" Garak said, all smiles. He reached out and gently closed Bashir's tricorder, pushing him back until he was against the wall. "Perhaps it was the close proximity of such a fine human specimen that got me 'worked up.'"

"This is serious! I don't know what that means in Cardassian physiology but I'm fairly certain it's nothing good."

"Well, perhaps it would have made more sense if you agreed to come with me to the docking station at fourteen hundred hours. But I see you're much too busy to assist a silly old Cardassian. I do trust that you will keep what I said under strict doctor-patient confidentiality?"

"_Garak_!" Bashir pushed away from the wall, but Garak just used his momentum to push himself away, and he headed back down the hallway. Bashir grumbled. "Look, if you need help—"

"Oh, no need doctor, no need!" Garak called. "I'm sure I can handle this little problem myself. Forget it."

And Garak left Bashir standing there with a confused expression and an annoyed O'Brien shouting at him from behind.


	2. Chapter 2

Bashir always let his curiosity get the better of him. He was addicted to discovery, to mystery. He never felt that his curiosity was a bad thing, and encouraged it whenever he could.

So it was only as he was creeping down the hallway to where Garak was going to be at fourteen hundred hours that he entertained the slightest possibility that he was overstepping the bounds of friendship—if you could call his relationship with Garak friendship. He knew practically nothing about the Cardassian except a string of lies that changed almost every day. But Garak's visit yesterday piqued his interest in spite of all. At fourteen hundred hours Garak was going to meet someone…who he was meeting and for what purpose he did not know. Apparently neither did Odo, because when he casually brought it up a few minutes ago the shapeshifter appeared nonplussed. Now that Garak thought that Bashir wasn't going to come, he had at least a chance to see what Garak was really up to when he wasn't putting on a façade. He would find out what that Cardassian was hiding, whether or not he wanted him to know.

He padded softly to where the hallway bent sharply, and flattened himself up against the bulkhead before he risked a glance around it. But all he saw was a docking station for a shuttle—Garak was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he was already on board…

He felt something cold against his neck, and the fizzy rush of a hypospray under his skin. He turned around, and the world spun.

"Easy, Doctor," a calm and cheerful voice said, as arms caught him from behind. "You've just been sedated."

Bashir turned wildly as the figure lifted him up, and he blinked in surprise. "Gar'k?" but his mouth wasn't working like it should.

"Come, my dear," Garak said with a smile. "Let's get you on board."

Bashir spent the next couple of minutes trying to punch and squirm his way out of Garak's grip, with no success. He was half-lead, half dragged onto the shuttle, and Garak held him easily with one arm as he operated the controls and the shuttle sped away from the station at warp speed. Bashir realized as his limbs became weaker and weaker that he had been given a short-term sedation compound, one that didn't diminish nerve signals to the brain or consciousness—sedatives of such nature were banned in the Federation. How did Garak get a hold of-? But that wasn't important now, not when he was being dragged off to God knew where. But Garak's arm was stiff and unyielding, and when he tried to brace his legs to push Garak back he only slipped and his legs came out from under him, leaving his entire weight on Garak's arm. It hurt—he shouted at Garak to let him go, but all that came out was a petulent yelp. The sedative relaxed his vocal cords and he could hardly move his mouth or tongue at all.

"Calm yourself, my dear," Garak said, giving a squeeze that indicated he had more than enough strength to hold Bashir's dead weight up. "You know my methods. It's only natural that I chose to invite you on this little excursion with something mild, don't you think? Just relax—it'll all be over soon."

Bashir, his cheek against Garak's shoulder and panting in the light scent of Garak's cologne, found little comfort in that.

When Garak finished at the console he hauled Bashir to the back of the shuttle, where a bed and chair were already set up. But Garak did not put him down on the bed. Instead he propped Bashir up against the bulkhead. Bashir, starting to get really frightened under the gaze that Garak fixed him with, felt the last of the strength leave his legs, so that his entire weight was supported by the wall and Garak's arms. He knew some Cardassian physiology, and knew that the hard object pressing against his upper leg was anything but innocent. Unable to speak or cry out, Bashir gave a kind of thin pleading whimper as he stared into Garak's steely gaze. Garak wouldn't…do anything to him, would he? But he'd heard stories, and Garak had taken an interest in him from the beginning. Then:

"Just checking that I administered the correct dosage," Garak said pleasantly, cradling Bashir's limp neck and putting him down gently on the bed. "You wouldn't let me get that close without, oh, at least an hour's worth of sedative in you."

Bashir panted with relief and anger at Garak—oh, wasn't he a _jokester_.

Garak seemed quite aware of his stellar sense of humor, and grinned as he gave Bashir a glance-over. "Though I might as well get your measurements while you're here," he said, and, taking the tape measure that he always carried with him out of his pocket, gave Bashir a complete fitting from head to toe, measuring everything from hat size to shoe size. Bashir never had a thorough fitting before, which often led to Garak hemming and rehemming trousers for him—he supposed this was Garak's way of getting back at him for his prudishness. Garak marked all the measurements down carefully on the datapad, and when he finished he ran his thumb over Bashir's unresisting mouth. Bashir blinked, hardly able to keep his eyes open but fearing what would happen next. Garak just said, "Yes, I think, if you would allow me, I might suggest a good lip balm as well. Such prettily shaped lips should never be in danger of getting dry."

Bashir gave a groan that was more like a grumble as Garak gave his characteristic prim little smile and sat down next to the bed. Bashir knew that Garak loved to mess with him, and so he forced his eyes to stay open and watched him with a combination of fascination and rage. But the Cardassian seemed determined to ignore him: He was designing a new suit on the datapad, now and then holding it up to the light to judge the color of some cloth sample. After a while, ostensibly to check on his state of consciousness but more likely to tease Bashir still further, Garak reached over and started petting his hair. Now and then a scaled finger would brush against his neck or tickle his ears—all very gentle, of course, and certainly not threatening. Garak never looked up from his datapad, but Bashir fumed as the Cardassian's scaly hands passed over him. The intimate nature of each stroke, crossing Bashir's boundaries when it wished to, reminded him how powerless the sedative made him. Bashir could do nothing but to look around at the shuttlecraft and glare at the Cardassian's smug face. When he could respond he did not give Garak the satisfaction of a real reaction, waiting until he was almost completely conscious before he lashed out. But Garak, almost as if he was expecting it, simply got up and walked back to the control console, leaving Bashir to punch at air. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. The shuttle started to spin.

"Lie down, Doctor," Garak said with exasperation and without needing to look back as Bashir let out an involuntary groan at the vertigo. "Please? You know you're not going to be able to walk for another hour at least."

Bashir snorted, trying to shake off the vestiges of the drug as he held onto the edge of the bed. He was determined to stay upright until Garak came back over and gently pressed him back down with a smile. "…the hell are you doing, Garak?" Bashir growled, upset that he didn't sound threatening at all, and that he didn't have the strength to push against Garak's hands again.

"Stay calm, my friend, you know I am not going to harm you," Garak said. "We'll be back on the space station before your morning shift on Monday."

He started checking Bashir's pulse, but Bashir wriggled. "Don't!"

"I thought you liked being touched," Garak said, taking his pulse with more force this time.

Bashir, his wrists now easily clasped in one of Garak's hands, glared up at him as the Cardassian only counted silently and watched the wall chronometer. "Then it was me you were going to meet at docking station three!"

"Precisely."

"But that—that business up against the wall was definitely not appropriate!"

"I never pretended that it was," Garak said. "But you humans have such a stringent concept of personal space. Can you blame me if I feel inclined to test boundaries put before me?" He smiled as he tickled Bashir under the chin, but Bashir could tell that he was speaking in riddles. Again.

"Why did you bring me here?" he demanded. Garak walked back to the console, and it took some effort for Bashir to crane his neck to see him.

"My dear doctor, you don't have to act so upset on Starfleet's account. You should be flattered."

"Flattered? Flattered that you kidnapped me?!"

"A little excursion, between friends? That's hardly criminal, especially since I haven't harmed a hair on your pretty little head. From the first day we met, you believed me to be a spy and hoped to find something that would prove your theory to be correct. Well, here is your chance to do just that. How lucky you are that you get to be my assistant on such an important spy mission!"

"I—I don't want to prove anything! I certainly don't want to be a spy!"

Garak looked up, eyes wide. "Really? Why, how utterly silly of me! Here I was, thinking that by all your snooping you were hinting that you wanted to go on a spying venture with me, and thus learn the art. I certainly wouldn't have made plans if I knew you were just being nosy. Although," he added, giving Bashir a glance-over, "I would like to know why you showed such interest if not for _that_ reason."

"Well, I—" But he couldn't exactly say that he suspected Garak was a spy for the Cardassians, could he? "Er…"

"Curiosity killed the cat, Julian," Garak said when Bashir found nothing to reply with.

Only a deep sense of outrage got Bashir on his feet about twenty minutes later. He walked toward the console like a man that had spent too much time in Quark's, but he was determined to get to the bottom of all this. He held onto the back of Garak's chair for support

"And aren't you supposed to be ill or something?"

"No, no, not ill. Not seriously ill. Tachycardia is a relatively common condition on Cardassia—comes and goes like clockwork…it's easily cured with the right prescription, from the right place."

Bashir snorted and tried to glance at the console with disapproval. But the destination astonished him so much that his surprise naturally showed through.

"Cardassia? We're going to Cardassia?"

"Extremely perceptive," Garak said, not really paying attention. "Maybe you should sit down?"

"I'm fine," Bashir insisted. "But I'm sure I won't be when we just fly into Cardassian space!"

"I've never known you to be a pessimist," Garak said. "We should arrive within eight hours."

Bashir snorted angrily. He wasn't saying anything that interested Garak in the least. And if he wanted to learn anything about what Garak was up to, he had to play Garak's game—but of course that gave Garak the advantage every time.

"Please, doctor, you're making me nervous!" Garak said affably.

The chair suddenly spun out from under Bashir's hands, and he was dragged into Garak's lap. Bashir was so taken by surprise that he didn't really know what was happening until he was pressed against Garak's chest, and thus he immediately felt the strength with which Garak held him down. Even a half-drugged Bashir could tell that such roughness meant Garak thought he would try to squirm away. But he could play the game. "I highly doubt that I could make you nervous, Garak," he said, making himself comfortable in Garak's lap and digging his bony rear-end into Garak's leg, hoping it hurt like hell.

Garak didn't seem to notice that so much as the fact that Bashir wasn't actively trying to escape. That certainly got his attention, and he turned to look up at Bashir with a smile and a raised eyebrow. "My dear! You don't give yourself enough credit!" He pulled Bashir close and fixed him with a sultry gaze from a few inches away. "I assure you, your very glance sends tremors through me."

"If that's the case…" Bashir said, and he looked right back into Garak's eyes as he put his arm around Garak's shoulder so that he could tiptoe his fingers down Garak's neckridge. "…Why don't you tell me what we're doing out here?"

Garak's gaze returned to center but his eyelids closed half-way, Bashir's touch apparently a very pleasant sensation. "And ruin the surprise?"

Bashir said nothing, trying to be as mysterious as Garak was. He reached the wide boatneck collar of Garak's green shirt (a shirt which Bashir had always liked), lingered a moment, and started back upward, toward his ears.

"That sort of thing only has a profound effect on Ferengi, you know," Garak said. Bashir raised his eyebrows and stopped, his fingers hovering a hair's width away from a gray scale on Garak's collarbone. Garak glanced at him out of the corner of his half-lidded eyes and added, "Though it doesn't hurt."

Bashir grinned and started it up again, taking the opportunity to touch Garak in the same intimate way that he had just been touched. It was rather fun, actually, to see Garak obviously taking so much pleasure from him drumming his fingers on his collarbone. The Cardassian's hand slipped from the console and onto Bashir's leg, and Bashir was pretty sure he heard Garak growl. Or was it a purr?

"Well, then," Bashir said, "Since you insist on being so mysterious, I'll leave you to it." He gave Garak a friendly smack on his sensitized shoulder, laughed as Garak winced out of his relaxed state, and used the moment of distraction it caused to leap out of Garak's lap.

"Don't give up so easily, Doctor!" Garak said, primly refusing to rub his shoulder (although he did stretch his neck) as he tapped away at the console like nothing happened. "I thought you were on the right track."

"You'd make an excellent dabo girl, my friend," Bashir said. "I'm just going to take a shower."

"Always the peacock," Garak tsk-ed. "You're only going to be around _me, _you know."

Bashir paused, then said "That's enough, Garak." It was an obvious double-meaning, but he supposed that Garak appreciated the effort, because he gave such a wickedly happy grin that Bashir couldn't help but smile back.


	3. Chapter 3

"These human life support systems are positively dreadful. I tell you truthfully, I'm freezing from head to foot."

Bashir groaned. "Oh, Garak, it's beastly hot in here already!"

Bashir hoped to get some sleep since the journey would be another six hours yet, and it seemed there was absolutely nothing he could do to get Garak to turn the shuttle around. He didn't count on Garak messing about with the life support controls. And with Bashir's voice commands neatly erased from the shuttle's computer system, there wasn't anything he could do about that, either. Now it was hot and humid, and Bashir contemplated taking off his shirt to join the trousers, shoes and jacket he had already stripped off.

That is, until Garak lay down directly behind him, pressing up against his back.

"Beastly?" Garak hissed, his breath cold against the nape of Bashir's neck and making his hairs stand on end. "An interesting word choice. Colloquially meaning 'awful' but literally meaning, 'fitting of or akin to a beast.' And a beast can be just what the doctor ordered, in the right circumstance. I do hope that you think of me as a beast, and not just awful."

Garak's arm snaked around his waist, but after the initial shock Bashir found the Cardassian's cool skin a welcome relief from the heat of the shuttle. He wondered if it was simply the temperature of Garak's skin that made his touch so electrifying in Bashir's mind—perfectly tuned life support systems did not give the same kind of pleasure that a sudden burst of heat or cold could give. Also, this time there was no spiny pressure at his back for Bashir to worry about. Garak wasn't really interested in doing that sort of thing, then. Or perhaps this meant that he actually was?

He was about to mention something about it when Garak spoke up again.

"Do humans keep lower forms of mammals as pets?"

"Oh, er—yes, quite often. Canids and felids, mostly, but others as well."

"I had a Krenshar once—roughly translated, a caramel lynx. I swear it had the same shade of fur as your skin."

"You don't say."

"Trust me, doctor—this is one time that I am telling the absolute truth. I have an eye for color, you know, but for some reason I've always enjoyed the earthy tones—greens, browns. Oh, she loved being petted. Such a nice, friendly little animal, though most of them are so standoffish." He gave Bashir a squeeze and said, "Ninety-eight point six degrees is a very agreeable temperature, isn't it?"

"I prefer it a bit cooler," Bashir said. He wanted to be a little more mysterious, but trying to hide things from Garak never really worked. Anyway he was pretty certain that was why Garak liked him so much.

"Cold hands, warm heart," Garak said, and Bashir immediately felt the heat of his blush radiate into Garak's cold skin.

"Sometimes I really do wonder how you could see any benefit in spying on me," he said angrily.

"It keeps me in practice. And you're very interesting."

"Me, interesting? You're the enigmatic one. I don't know why I even bother with you—you never give me a straight answer, no matter what we're talking about…"

"But, doctor, you love puzzles!"

"How do you know that?"

"Well, for starters, you have lunch with me every week. Anyway, I think it was something Lieutenant Dax told me about you."

"Dax?" Now he remembered—it was one of the first of many pick-up lines he gave her. He wasn't sure how he liked hearing Garak talk about her and him in the same sentence. Dax obviously didn't want to pursue a romantic relationship with him, and these days he flirted with her only rarely, to keep his game fresh.

"How old are you, Garak?" he asked. One of the great things about Garak was that you could carry on half of your train of thought in your head, because he already knew what you were thinking and filled in the gaps himself.

"Oh, I imagine I'm a bit older than you," Garak said.

"How much older?"

"A Cardassian never tells his age," Garak said sweetly. Bashir actually believed him—lifespan of Cardassians was known in only general terms—they lived a bit longer than humans but not quite so long as Vulcans. "And would you believe me if I did?"

"Obviously not," Bashir laughed. For some reason the repartee between them made Bashir feel incredibly safe lying there in Garak's arms. He leaned his head back, and fell asleep.

Four hours later, the console exploded in noise.


	4. Chapter 4

…At least, the standard beeping that indicated an approaching ship sounded like an explosion. Bashir jumped to his feet, but Garak merely sat up and cocked his head.

"What? What's that?" Bashir stammered, trying to get his bearings.

Garak gestured toward the window. "Our welcoming committee, apparently."

"Our…oh, no…!"

But Bashir could plainly see the Cardassian ship outside the shuttle's windows.

"Admittedly, I do think they are a bit ahead of schedule," Garak mused, not seeming perturbed at all as he peered at the ship's chronometer. "I should have had another hour at least."

Bashir was already in starfleet mode. "Come on, there's a hidden storage compartment you might be able to squeeze into while I sort this out—"

"My dear doctor! I admire your bravery, but who's to say they aren't after _you_?"

"What do you think Cardassia would want from me?"

Garak smiled, until his persona took on that of an excited, confused Bashir as he went to the main console. "I don't know!—federation medical secrets? I can rest assured they're safe with you—though perhaps I should place a monitoring device on you, just in case they're up to something."

"_What_-?! How did you hear about that?!"

But Garak ignored him and typed a few commands out at the console. "Now, doctor, this is very important—I will need you to trust me. Do you think you can manage that?"

"Why should I? You're going to get us killed!"

"Sorry, my friend, but there's no time for this." Garak reached out and grabbed Bashir's face, and Bashir was suddenly looking into Garak's eyes from a few inches away, which seemed to grow dark and ominous in a moment. When he spoke it was in a low growl. "Our survival rests upon your very admirable ability to trust when you should not. Promise to trust me, _now_."

The way Garak said it send a chill down Bashir's spine, and as he looked in the Cardassian's eyes he was sure he should not trust Garak as far as he could throw him right now.

Still, he felt a welcome coolness on his side from where Garak's arm had been resting. He trusted him well enough _then_…

"Alright, alright," he said. "No problem."

"Good!" Garak's smile was back as he got up out of the console chair. "Stand up straight, now—a gul never likes to see a man slouch."

"Gul…?"

"Ah! Gul Dukat!" Garak said pleasantly to the Cardassian that suddenly materialized in front of him. "I was expecting you."


End file.
